Shipwrecked
by Culurien Malinalda
Summary: "Katniss tells me they have sent a rescue mission for Annie and the rest. So this is it. Today she lives or dies. And me with her." One-shot. Cannon based Finnick's POV


_Summary: "Katniss tells me they have sent a rescue mission for Annie and the rest. So this is it. Today she lives or dies. And me with her." One-shot. Cannon based following Finnick during the rescue mission in Mockingjay._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games._

_Thank you so much for amazing feedback from the fabulous __Defying Expectations__. Reviews are very much appreciated, as always._

* * *

><p><strong>Shipwrecked<strong>

* * *

><p>Katniss wakes me from the foggy drug land and into harsh reality. At first, I'm desperate to go back to sleep. But I don't really know what's real and what's not anymore. Asleep or awake, there's not that much of a difference. The reality is too horrid to be real, and the dreamland too vivid not to be. My hands fumbles for something to hold on to, anything. Something real. They find nothing but a thin rope and I cling to it.<p>

...

Katniss tells me they have sent a rescue mission for Annie and the rest. So this is it. Today she lives or dies. And me with her.

...

Haymitch has a job for us if we're up for it. Anything, I think, anything that can help Annie. Nothing is worse than doing nothing. But I'm not prepared for what they have in mind. If I knew what they were thinking, maybe I wouldn't have volunteered so quickly. It's not the first time I volunteer for the unknown. Volunteer for something where I have no idea what I will be made to do.

...

My name is Finnick Odair and I'm a prostitute. Sold by President Snow. It hurts as hell to talk about it. And now I'm telling it to the whole world. In my head, I picture that I'm talking about somebody else. A girl, maybe. Twenty years old? Sure. Black hair. Brown eyes. Brown eyes filled with pain and sorrow. No. I can't condemn her because of my sins. I'm the prostitute. I'm the whore.

...

Plutarch loved my secrets. What a surprise. But I can only see pity in the eyes of my fellow victors. I don't know what's worse: Plutarch's glee, or Katniss' sorrow.

...

I'm tying knots. Bowline, figure eight, butterfly knot. My fingers fly like butterflies, waving the rope into numberless knots. My hands are sore, but I don't feel the pain. Distel hitch, water knot, anchor bend. I have no anchor. I'm a floating boat in a storm of emotions and feelings. At any moment, the boat can sink, and I will drown.

...

We eat lunch, Katniss and I. But we don't eat. We push the food around our plates. A grayish moss and no one really knows what it's made of. It doesn't matter. I don't know what anything is anymore. The food could be thin roast beef with caramelized onions on a bead of vegetable puree; it doesn't make any difference to me. I see patterns forming in the gray mass as I push it around. Blood. Death. I try to see Annie instead. I try to picture her alive and smiling. But I can't.

...

Beetee turn off the switch and throws his hands in the air before leaning back in his chair. By now they're out or they're dead, he says. Out or dead. Out or dead. The words echo in my head. Back and forth. They're growing louder and louder. Into a crescendo. Out or dead. Out or dead. I want to scream. Dead. Dead. Dead. What if she's dead? She is! Is she not? Annie use to say she gets lost in her mind. Is this how it feels?

...

Katniss is knotting a noose. But just like mine, her rope is too short for it to be of any use. She works on it until it's perfect. Even I couldn't have done it better. But I've given up. I curl up in a ball and press my hands to my ears as if I can hide from the word. Make it all go away. But the world won't go away. It always stay persistent at my side. Never leaving me alone. No matter how much I want it to.

...

There is no more happiness in the world. Can I ever feel happy again? I can't feel anything, except pain. Bone shattering pain. And hate. I can feel that. I know I will never be happy again. Words are empty. They can't describe how dark it is at the very darkest. My doctor calls it depression, but that is just a word. It has no meaning. I understand why someone would want to end it all by killing themself. I almost did one time, but I didn't. And after that I found Annie and she became my life. I have never let myself sink so deep into disappear again. I will not do it now either. At least not until I know for sure that she is not coming back to me.

...

Katniss asks if I loved Annie right from the start. The sudden question rips me out of my dark thoughts. Did I love Annie right from the start? I didn't, and I tell her so. I can't remember when I first realized I did love her, but I remember the first time I told her I did. I remember her shining green eyes dancing with joy. The corner of her mouth twisting into a smile. The light blush on her cheeks. I have told her a thousand times since then, but I'm afraid I don't remember them all. I wish I did. But that first time I will never forget. I'll take it to my grave.

...

They're back. It's all I know. Who's they? WHO IS THEY? I want to run as fast as I can to find out if she's there. But what if she's not? I can't feel my feet. I don't think I can move. Thinking about it, I can't feel my arms either. Have I gone lame? My arms hangs loose down by my side. The rope dangling towards the floor. Katniss reaches out and take my hand. She begin leading me by the arm. Where are we going? I don't know.

...

It's chaos. Running people. Calm people. Shouting people. Hurt people. Scared people. Happy people. But they blur past me. They're of no relevance. I know I'm being egoistic and I don't care.

...

"Finnick!" I hear her voice before I see her. I run towards the sound of her voice, blinded by madness. What if it's only my mind playing a trick? But it's not. She is there. Annie! We crash together and I'm knocked against the wall. My arms wraps around her, pushing her as close as I possibly can. My hands are dancing from her face to her hair to her back and again to her face. I have to make sure she is real. But she's warm and very much alive in my cradling arms.

...

I kiss her mouth, her eyelashes, her hair, her cheeks. I'm afraid of waking up to find it is all a dream. It feels too good to be true, and it probably is. Even if she's here with me, we are still both broken without repair, in a sick and twisted world. We're two lost souls drifting about on the open sea, with no land in sight; struggling not to let the waves pull us under. But at least with her by my side I will keep on treading the water, because life seems worth living and the world seems worth fighting for.


End file.
